


fight the good fight

by chii



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMFs, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13509780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: Watching Ignis easily win a four versus one sparring match through a TV screen feels a little bit voyeuristic but it's too good tostopwatching.





	fight the good fight

**Author's Note:**

> I had like 90 other fics I wanted to write before this but like a dumbass, I started it because of a comment made during an RP log.
> 
> It'll be just a short fic, I said. It won't take long to do at all, I said. Wroooong. Anyway, Qing this is for you because you're lovely. Many thanks to [Neomeruru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru) and [Brigantines](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brigantines) for beating this thing into submission for me and making it actually readable.

It starts with a text from Gladio.

`Clear your sched, 10A-2P; trust me, it’ll be worth it`.

Bemused, Noctis does as he’s told and works with the secretary to clear his schedule from then until a little after two, simply because he knows that that’s during lunch and if they’re all going to be occupied during that time, they’ll need to get something to eat at some point. There’s a budgetary meeting on the housing projects for Insomnia at four and while it’s only scheduled for two hours he knows that it’s going to drag out even longer because Kalen is there and he’s positively fucking unbearable during these budgetary meetings, as if the Crown shouldn’t be spending money on making sure that refugees are taken care of. It’s something they’ll have to break him of eventually, but thus far he hasn’t been able to stop progress and it’s not a fight Noctis wants to have, so he leaves it be

The location for the meeting invite Gladio’s sent is the training rooms for the Kingsglaive and Crownsguard, which means it’s likely he’s going to be observing the newest recruits. That, in and of itself, isn’t strange or remarkable; he’s done it enough times whenever they get a new group but normally those meetings are in the evening, after training and chores are done. 

So, come ten in the morning, Noctis heads toward the training rooms, unsurprised when he finds Prompto slouched against the wall watching the view screens. They’d installed them last month or so, mostly because people tend to get a little nervous if they're being watched, and partially so that Gladio and Cor could go over recordings to help instruct recruits how to improve. Now, it means Noctis can shrug off the heavy gear from his last meeting and roll his shoulders, bumping them against Prompto’s gently as they watch. 

“Got a text from the big guy too, huh?” Noctis asks quietly, even if they don’t need to be quiet when behind the screens. 

“Mnhm. No details, but he said it’d be worth it, which could mean a lot of things.” Prompto’s arm slides around his waist easy as you please, fingers hooking into the pocket of his pants like they belong there. “Looks like Lord Kalen’s kid is out there, along with a few others. It’s not the full batch, though, which is weird.” 

It _is_  weird. Normally, Glaive and Crownsguard training is the full group of recruits. It’s usually ten to twenty that are whittled down week after week until those left move onto the second set of training. Off to the side, he sees Cor talking with Gladio, but the mics only pick up the chatter of the recruits.

Noctis recognizes most of the recruits on the floor: Kalen’s son Vernas, two recruits named Rian and Mercalus and someone else that he doesn’t recognize by name but remembers is the kid of Fylandris, who Noctis also isn’t _particularly_  fond of. Money couldn’t buy everything during the end of the world, but it bought nobility more safety than most. A good deal of those not killed in the initial destruction of Insomnia had survived the long darkness while he slept. As much as he wishes that he could simply ignore things like status for the particularly vexing members, that wasn’t how the world worked. Still, their parents were real pieces of work to deal with, more money than sense, and from what Gladio’d said, so were their kids. 

“Think Gladio’s gonna kick their asses? I heard one of them was talking shit about some of the refugee recruits we brought in and Gladio was super not happy about it.” Prompto isn’t happy about it either, despite the casual enough tone. He was particularly protective of the new recruits, those without status or name. “Apparently Kalen was trying to start up some sort of stupid hazing ritual for the new recruits, like he’s already been accepted. Kid doesn’t realize that he’s got four more weeks of training to get through before he even thinks about taking the test.” 

“Gladio wouldn’t risk the blowback for making an example of them outside of training; their parents would have a fit. Until the housing development paperwork is signed, we have to play ball,” Noctis murmurs, watching on screen as the trainees pick up weapons and start idly knocking blades against with each other with no real intent. Gladio’s in full Kingsglaive gear, which means he’s not planning on fighting, and Cor’s not in gear either, so the two of them are clearly either planning on pitting the recruits against each other or the recruits against someone else.  “You didn’t wanna step in and knock some heads?” 

“Pft, dude, in a heartbeat, but Gladio didn’t ask, which means he’s got something else in mind.” Prompto squeezes his hip affectionately and flicks the volume up in the training room a little louder so they can hear. It’s mostly cheerful bickering from the recruits, but Vernas has the same obnoxious, snooty drawl as his father. Noctis rolls his eyes to the ceiling and Prompto openly laughs, amusement clear in his words. “Like father like son, huh? Love that.” 

Before Noctis can answer (which is probably for the best because he absolutely has nothing good to say) the door opens again and _Ignis_ steps into the room. Beside him, Prompto lets out a low litte whistle at the sight of him and Noctis doesn’t bother hiding his own hum of approval. Ignis looks good enough to eat all the time, sure, but it’s even better to see him in something more casual. Lucian black is default, of course, but instead of being somber all it does is emphasize the way it clings to his legs, the curve of his ass. The tanktop he’s wearing is _fitted_  and Noctis absently thinks he wants to push it up, lick over the lines of his hip bones later tonight. 

“Dunno why we even have uniforms,” Noctis mutters under his breath, watching the way the shirt clings to the muscles of Ignis’ back, mouth dry.

“Me either, abolish those like, yesterday,” Prompto agrees easily, pointing to the screen where Gladio’s watching Ignis just as intently, that smile on his lips isn’t _dirty_  so much as carefully smug. 

“Ohhh, shit,” Prompto says, sharp and gleeful, the realization clear in his tone, the way he grins toothily. “Oh, oh, that’s mean. That’s- wow.”

Noctis makes the connection a moment later and smirks, glad no one else can see them right now. “They must be driving Gladio up a wall for him to pull this.” 

For all that the other three had gotten him to the point of bringing back the light, sacrificing himself to save the world, their names weren’t guaranteed to be in the history books, not like his was. Noctis hated it, a little bit; they deserved the (debatable, but he was feeling charitable here) honor and glory just as much as he did. It was only fair they hated all the attention together, rather than Noctis biting back a grimace every time someone thanked him a thousand times. The world chalked everything up to his actions, as if he were the only one responsible; it wasn’t fair, but the limelight wasn’t what any of them wanted. 

Besides, they all knew it wouldn’t be long before the truth did come out. For all that the king’s closest companions were known to be with him almost every step of the way, they hadn’t given many interviews about it. Eventually, they would have to. Eventually, Noctis would push because they _deserved_  recognition. With news agencies rebuilding, online access restored, it was only a matter of time before the cogs of the PR machine had to start in earnest and there would be no more avoidance. 

Before he says anything, Vernas speaks up, clearly realizing what Noctis and Prompto had moments ago. “Wait, we’re fighting _him?_ ”  

“Aaaand, strike one,” Prompto sing-songs over Gladio’s answer, neither of them missing the glance Gladio gives to the cameras installed. “How deep d’you think he’s gonna dig this hole?” 

“Far enough to bury himself, probably.” Noctis doesn’t bother hiding the tiny bit of satisfaction at it; so many of those at his father's side in the past sent their children to be Crownsguard and Kingsglaive. There was always the understanding that the testing was intense to the point of most not making it, which meant that the two statues were some of the most elite. He’s heard rumors that some of the nobles have assumed that their prior status with his father meant that their children would be accepted automatically, despite lackluster performance, as if Noctis was a softer king than his father. It wouldn’t surprise him to know that Vernas and his father thought the same.  “I’ve seen the kid’s scores. They’re good, but he can’t work on a team and unless he learns how , he’s not going to make it to week eight, let alone the end.”

“That’d be a real shame,” Prompto says, unconvincingly sad. 

Gladio and Cor are far enough away they likely can’t hear the finer points of what the boys are discussing. The chatter of the recruits is a mix of banter and play-sniping at each other but Noctis stiffens when one of them -- Rian -- scoffs and mutters, “Is this punishment because we’re doing too well, or not well enough? Gotta fight the king’s bedwarmer?”  

“If all it takes is kicking the ass of a pencil-pusher to get this over with, I’m all for it,” Mercalus answers, the two of them slapping hands together and tugging each other in for a hug. The camaraderie is ruined by the commentary and Noctis feels Prompto tense at his side. 

He is absolutely going to make more of a deal about what the three of them did, because if recruits are willing to be so brazen about their disdain, it’s likely that it’s a learned behavior from their parents. Parents that interact with Ignis and the rest every single day and obviously need to be disabused of this notion that _pencil pusher a_ nd _bedwarmer_  are in any way accurate. 

“I know you guys aren’t thrilled at the idea of us talking about everything, but-” Noctis starts carefully, only for Prompto to shake his head, knuckles white where his arms are crossed. 

“No. I mean, we’ve all dealt with some shit from people who don’t take anyone but Gladio seriously, but it’s never been _that_  bad and we’ve always had something else to focus on, you know? But this isn’t⎼ it’s not acceptable.”

One less disagreement to have later, which is a relief. Noctis nods in response, focusing back on the recruits warming up with each other. If they had no audio and just the visual, he could almost believe they were able to work as a team. The shoulder-slapping hug was something he and Gladio did countless times. 

“Their scores are middle of the line, with weapons training putting them a little higher, but not high enough,” Noctis says, thinking back to the scores he reviewed with the rest of them two nights ago. “Just because you’re good with a weapon in training doesn’t mean you can work on a team.” 

If you lived long enough to make it to this point, it was almost a given that some sort of fighting had been seen in some capacity. Those who never saw combat were barely old enough to read, the few babies born four or five years ago miracles in and of themselves, but also a constant worry for those protecting them

“ _Bedwarmer_ ,” Noctis hisses between his teeth, unable to get over that comment, the irritation of it like an itch he knows he can’t scratch. 

“Strike two and three. Besides, Ignis’ feet and hands are like ice whenever he comes into bed. Nothing warm about it.” Prompto says quietly, significantly less gleeful. His arms uncross, hand going back to its possessive position down the pocket of Noctis’ pants.  “This is just my good ol’ plebe opinion, but uh, these guys are assholes and their parents aren’t much better. I kinda hoped the whole snooty nobility thing would’ve died out.”

“No way we’d be that lucky.” Ignis finishes stretching and Noctis feels a gentle tug from the Armiger as he pulls two training daggers out instead of the normal, viciously sharp set. He wonders if it feels strange, using a weapon not tied to any magic, not brimming with power and certainty that it would cut down anything in its path. There was something special about using weapons imbued with magic, but at the rate these kids were going, there was little to no way they’d ever find out.

On screen, Gladio steps forward.  Cor is lounging against the wall, arms crossed, watching all of them with sharp eyes; Noctis doesn’t miss the way he tilts his head just so and gives a subtle two finger wave to them in the camera. “Rules are simple. Four versus one. You land a killing strike on someone, they’re out. You get give up, you tap out.”

Tapping out is a rule they still use with the recruits if they feel they need it. Where Kingsglaive and Crownsguard play for keeps, tapping out allows recruits to maintain some sense of dignity along with being able to pause the fight if they’re particularly self-aware and want to learn the trick that took them down. Noctis has a feeling they’re not going to see much of that here.

“...Wait. So the four of us,” Rian says slowly, like he can’t believe their luck, “Against one person, and he has to get _all of us_  to tap out or one of us has to get him to? That’s how you win?” 

Mercalus is the only one who is starting to look vaguely concerned, which makes Noctis give him a few points for intelligence while the other three just look _smug_. 

“Yep,” Gladio confirms, popping the consonant at the end “You guys said you wanted a challenge.” 

It goes without saying that they probably wanted to fight _Gladio_ , not someone they’ve rarely interacted with, but if anything that makes this a little more satisfying. 

“...Uh, is he gonna need his cane or anything?” the recruit whose name Noctis doesn’t remember asks, glancing from Gladio to where Ignis is loosely holding his daggers, visor reflecting the harsh shine of the training room lights. “We’re not gonna get in trouble, right?” 

Beside him, Prompto’s shaking with poorly repressed laughter, though it’s not like they can hear if he were to laugh loudly. Noctis  _would_ laugh if he weren’t so frustrated; he knows Ignis can handle himself and that he’s likely heard a good deal of this sort of ridiculous doubt, but maybe they need to restructure things. Training with all three of them instead of just Gladio and Cor, once they’ve hit week seven or eight. The four of them were responsible for getting the world to safety again and while Noctis didn’t want anyone  _afraid_ of them, a healthy bit of respect would do some good. 

“I assure you,” Ignis says smoothly, stepping in just as Gladio steps back like it’s choreographed. “None of you will get in any trouble if I’m injured during this.” 

_If_ , like there’s any fucking chance of it. They’re all using blunted weapons - the unnamed recruit has daggers in hand, just like Ignis, but Mercalus has a greatsword in hand, with Rian and Vernas holding swords loosely. When they line up, Ignis in the center, one of them at each corner of the training hall, Noctis knows they’re all judging things like stance and how they’re holding their weapons. Out of the four of them, Rian’s the only one who is near perfect, but it doesn’t matter. They didn’t talk at any point before to discuss how they were going to do this, nor are they making any attempt to use the hand signals Noctis knows they’re all trained in from week one. 

Kingsglaive and Crownsguard applications are available to anyone eighteen and above. If a family is unable to send their child, then the Crown eats the cost and houses them in the barracks; those that wash out are still given work with the hunters or any one of a thousand other duties needed during recovery. 

The four of them, with Cor and the rest of the older guard agreed upon the idea of making it open to literally anyone with the actual process being so long and difficult that it weeded out those who would try to skate. Just because one knew how to fight years ago didn’t mean they were suddenly qualified to protect the Crown and _certainly_  didn’t mean they were able to be a part of either the Glaive or Crownsguard. 

Noctis has no intentions of changing the invitation system because it gave countless people a purpose, an opportunity to fight, to train, and they needed desperately to recover their numbers in Insomnia, but it itched at him that they had to deal with this. 

“Go,” Gladio says and steps back the rest of the way, slouching against the wall in clear view of the cameras. 

“Week four is teamwork, did they _fall asleep_?” Prompto asks incredulously, watching as they rush as one unit, none of them bothering to check if they’re going to step all over each other in the rush to try and take Ignis down. “Iggy’s gonna wreck them.” 

Which is exactly what happens. Despite the trainees numbers, they don’t communicate, they don’t act like a team and they certainly overestimate their abilities and underestimate Ignis’ own. It takes less than twenty seconds for the first attack to fail; the unnamed recruit tries to sneak up from behind and they watch as Ignis sidesteps the other two, trips the third and neatly twists around to sweep the leg out from under him, knocking him firmly to the ground, a dagger to his neck. 

“One,” Gladio says indifferently, like he’s not living for this just as much as the rest of them are. “Kalachi, in a real fight that would’ve been your throat. You’re out.” 

The match doesn’t stop just because one of them is taken out. Ignis moves in a flash, twisting around the greatsword that’s swung at him, neatly sidestepping another strike from one of the swords, moving with the sort of grace and ease that he’d had when they were younger before Altissia. It’s stunning to watch, even if both Prompto and Noctis know that it’s not the full extent of his abilities. He’s not bothering to warp despite having full access to Kingsglaive powers. He’s not using magic. He’s going to thrash them because Ignis is nothing if not the best at what his duties, whatever they are. 

The others look like they’re starting to realize their mistake as Kalachi heads off to lick his wounds; Noctis catches Rian try to make a hand sign, but the other two aren’t paying attention. Vernas launches himself at Ignis again, and if it were against an arba, sure, maybe he would’ve gotten somewhere. Instead, Ignis takes him down with the same amount of effort it takes to swat a fly, and doesn’t bother disarming him. Vernas hits the ground with a _whumph_  and blessedly rolls over, moving out of the way to get back up - not all of his training was a waste.

“Sloppy footwork on Mercalus, he’s gonna- there we go,” Noctis notes with a little frown, watching as Ignis neatly grabs him by the shirt, twists, and throws him. His weapon goes skittering across the ground and Ignis smoothly  presses him into the ground with a knee while deflecting another blow with crossed daggers, shoving up and sending Rian stumbling backwards. They hear Gladio’s, “And that’s two. Spine injuries take forever to heal, if they don’t kill you. Wouldn’t recommend it.” 

“Mercalus is out and look at Vernas, he’s _pissed_.” Noctis doesn’t bother filtering his annoyance; pissed isn’t the way Vernas should feel right now and it’s just another strike against him. “It’s gonna make him even sloppier if he isn’t careful.”

“Yeah, I think he just figured out that Iggy’s basically just playing with them.” Prompto touches two fingers to the screen and pinches to zoom in now that there’s only two left to worry about. “Oh, hey, looks like someone remembered what hand signs were and how to read them.

Vernas jerks his chin at Rian and together they try to flank Ignis, which under normal circumstances might work, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s _Ignis_  and it’s the most basic fucking move that they’re all taught in their studies. It’s artful, Noctis supposes. Ignis doesn’t make a production of it but he does play with them just enough that it’s clear he’s making a point. They never land a strike, but he lets them get close, lets them get even cockier when blades clang against daggers and Ignis twists quickly to the side. Truthfully, Noctis isn’t sure if he’s trying to give them a chance to not make asses of themselves or just giving them enough rope to hang themselves, but it doesn’t matter. Vernas’ pale skin has turned blotchy with rage and exertion, and Rian, despite trying to work with him, is flagging.

Ignis takes him out next, disarming him with a twist of his dagger. The sword goes flying up into the air out of Rian’s hand so quickly it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do. The move Ignis executes next is one that drags the breath out of Noctis; he’s seen Ignis fight a thousand times before, but it never stops being impressive. Rian’s knocked neatly to the ground and Ignis _twists_ , leg snapping out to kick the blade as it’s falling. His boot connects neatly with the metal,  knocking it out of the ring to sink solidly into the wall, vibrating. It’s the sort of obscenely fancy move that shouldn’t be possible with a dull blade. Ignis doesn’t even have to try and hold a dagger to his throat; Rian slaps the ground three times and rolls away, scrambling back while Gladio calls _three_.

“Cor’s not happy; look at his face, he’s going to go talk to them,” Prompto murmurs. They’re not focused on the ones licking their wounds, though, eyes drawn to where Ignis is standing loosely, head tilted at the angle that Noctis knows means he’s focusing intently on everything around him to narrow down where his last opponent is.

“I want to see if I can get Ignis training monthly with the recruits. You, too,” Noctis says thoughtfully, watching as Ignis sidesteps another blow. It’s a move Gladio’s done to Noctis a hundred times, just without the condescending little thwack to his back. Part of him wishes Iggy’d done it just to be petty but the rest of him knows that already he’s going to have to deal with evening calls or emails from angry parents. This is a lesson, which means Gladio can’t make an obvious effort to embarrass them, no matter how tempting. “It isn’t fair that people don’t respect what you guys did. At least now these four should, but I don’t want to keep encountering this.” 

“Aw, Noct,” Prompto coos like he’s teasing but his cheeks go pink he shoves their shoulders together affectionately. A moment later, he’s using his grip to tug Noctis in for a kiss to his cheek with a dramatic _mwah_. “Lookit you, all protective. You know we’ve had to deal with worse than jerks in politics, right? I’m in the weekly meetings, I watch Iggy eat these guys for lunch and come back for seconds the next day.”  

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Noctis returns distractedly, watching Vernas get up again, the kid  a glutton for punishment. His stance has gone to shit but he’s holding his sword almost correctly. Ignis deflects the first blow, twisting, and shoves his shoulder into Vernas’ stomach to send him tumbling to the ground

“Is it mean or weird if I say this is the hottest thing I’ve seen all week, and that’s including the way Ignis did the splits last night during sex?” Prompto asks, hushed, and Noctis’ lips twitch up despite himself, warmed. That  _was_ pretty impressive, and watching Ignis work right now is pretty fucking hot. “Just saying.”

The daggers disappear into the Armiger, leaving Ignis unarmed as he uses his weight to twist and send Vernas face-first into the mats. It’s done so quickly it’s almost a blur; Vernas is clearly not injured, probably won’t even have a bruise from it, aside from his pride. One arm twists behind his back and Ignis’ free hand pushes against Vernas’ head, just firm enough to hold him. 

“Yield,” Ignis says calmly, not even out of breath. 

For a moment, both Prompto and Noctis hold breath. If Vernas says something shitty it’s grounds for expulsion from the program, and Noctis would honestly like nothing more than to see him fail without failing another week or two in. It’s clearly a battle; they watch Vernas’ face twist, red and furious, and Ignis waits patiently, straddling him from behind. 

“Do you yield?” Ignis asks again, conversational, smiling blandly when Vernas’ hand slaps the mat three harsh times. “Very good.” 

Truthfully, Noctis isn’t interested in the rest of this; Cor’s going to go over a post-mortem of the battle and work them through everything they did wrong, and Ignis is rising up with a hand from Gladio, speaking too softly for the mics to pick up. Once steadied, Ignis offers a hand to Vernas, and doesn’t seem surprised when it’s not taken -- but that, too, drags at Noctis. 

It’s a clear slight, and between that, the _bedwarmer_  comment on top of everything else he’s already inclined to put aside the budgetary meeting tomorrow so they can turn their attention to how to restructure the training. A group this messy shouldn’t have made it this far, weapons scores or not. If the Crown is truly hurting for recruits so badly, then they’ll figure something else out; this sort of ugliness has no place in Insomnia, or Lucis. If recruits are willing to disparage someone as close to the Crown as Ignis, then they’re not going to be focused on helping those whose positions are _lesser_  than their own. 

“C’mon, Gladio’s heading out with Ignis,” Prompto says, catching Noctis by the arm and leading him right out the door so that Cor can have the viewing room. In the Kingsglaive lockers, Ignis is settled on a bench, sipping a can of Ebony while Gladio lounges against the lockers like a giant, overly pleased cat. Prompto slings himself onto the bench with a hum, tone cheerful, “Well, that was fun.”

Distantly, Noctis thinks he ought to say something about how Gladio maybe shouldn’t use Ignis to knock shitty kids into place but they’re not kids, are they? Most of the recruits are the same age as Noctis and the rest were when they started down the path to retaking Insomnia. There’s no excuses. This isn’t a frat house, or a joke. If an example needs to be made, maybe that’s what it takes. 

“They’re not going to make it another two weeks,” Noctis says carefully, arms crossed. “How’d they even make it this far?

“Good scores throughout, but they started being little shits to the other recruits and thought I wouldn’t notice. We tried missions down in old Insomnia helping out refugees to remind them that the whole point of their positions would be to _protect_  everyone, and it didn’t stick. If this didn’t work, they’ll wash out end of this week.” Gladio shakes his head, clearly disgusted. “Hopefully, it’s a wake-up call. We’re dealing with this more and more now, though; families wanting to send their kids in to try and get closer to the Crown now that things are less of a mess. We still gotta keep enrollment open, but--” 

“Reworking the process does seem necessary,” Ignis says smoothly, draining the can in his hand. He rises up and places it into the recycling neatly, but before he can go back to his seat, Noctis grabs him by the belt loops and tugs him in close, stealing a kiss, making a displeased noise when Ignis doesn’t let him deepen it, feeling the jerk smile against his lips. “--Hello. I assumed Gladio had set this up to be viewed. I heard that Vernas’ father was being particularly difficult with you yesterday and he’s submitted at least twelve different meeting requests for both of us in the last ten hours.”

“Politics suck,” Prompto groans, pushing off of the wall to steal a kiss from Ignis, too, openly admiring as he slides fingertips down his bare arm. “You know, even with as many times as I’ve seen you like, super naked, sometimes I forget that underneath your outfits there’s not just a second, nicer outfit. Like you were just born looking _that_ good. It’s ridiculous.” 

Gladio barks out a laugh behind them, grabbing Ignis’ garment bag. He unzips it in one go, tugging out the outfit he’d hung for Ignis when he’d changed originally.  “Like one of those nesting dolls, huh?”

“Sure is what it feels like, trying to get him out of all those layers sometimes,” Noctis complains, straddling the bench in the locker room now that he doesn’t have Ignis to kiss. All three of them watch him dress again, and from the smile curving Ignis’ lips and deliberate way he’s stretching out the process, it’s clear that he doesn’t need his sight to know that they’re watching. 

“I’ll admit, I feel rather like I’m on display right now, not to mention woefully underdressed.” Ignis’ fingers button up his slacks, which is a damn shame, that’s evident on all of their faces as they watch him dress back up like the world’s shittiest reverse strip tease.

“So, not that I’m opposed to an open schedule or a break, but it’s barely eleven, and you set this whole thing up knowing Iggy’d thrash ‘em in record time. We have til two,” Prompto shifts his weight from foot to foot, frowning when Ignis buttons up the last two buttons and leaves him sadly covered from throat to feet. “I assume lunch is somewhere in there, but-?”

“I figured we’d be pretty busy afterward, given the show,” Gladio says, and oh, _oh_ , all that heat that Noctis had been ignoring until this point tightens, coalesces into a ball in his stomach and leaves his fingers itching. Prompto’s eyes have gone similarly laser-focused on Gladio and Noctis catches a slip of pink tongue as he licks his lips. “Already ordered lunch up to his highness’ bedroom. Should be there right when we get there.

There’s an entirely different thrill that goes through Noctis at that, and he’s sure Ignis feels it too; Gladio was so prepared and had so much faith in Ignis he’d planned it out perfectly. For a moment, he hesitates over the softness that wants to spill out of him, terribly affectionate and aware that the four of them are so _good_  that he’s overwhelmed with how lucky he is, how much he loves them. Then: Prompto draws back and lands a solid strike right on his ass that _echoes_  and burns. 

“Come _on_ , I have four hours straight of meetings after this and I want brunch and sex in bed, let’s _go!_ ” Prompto twists to the side before Noctis can get to him, damnably good at being squirrely when he wants to be, and then heads for the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Come on come on come oooon.”

“Far be it from me to object,” Ignis murmurs like he’s not just as soft and fond as the rest of them, gathering up his dirtied clothes and tucking them into the bag he’d put his suit into. “I suppose we ought to head up before Prompto expires.” 

“He ain’t gonna expire if he doesn’t get laid in the next ten minutes.” Gladio rolls his eyes and Noctis trails after him, warm down to his toes at how much he _loves_  them and how lucky they are that their biggest issues are bureaucratic nightmares and snooty nobles instead of the literal end of the world as they know it

“You don’t know that! Better we don’t find out,” Prompto calls, holding the door for Ignis and letting it slide shut on the other two, just so they can get a headstart down the hall. Gladio lets out a sigh like this is the most irritating thing he’s dealt with all day and Noctis smiles helplessly, so in love with all of them that he aches, following him out the door. Maybe, with the extra time, he can convince all of them to take a nap with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> fuck you canon, we rewrite the ending like men


End file.
